The churning river
Seems to eternally move
While standing quite still.
Monday, December 26, 2016
One of the great things I remember about being a boy was coming home from church and getting out of those goofy church clothes, putting on some jeans and a t-shirt then meeting some friends to break in whoever’s new football, preferably on a muddy field.
Getting together to play; that should never be lost, particularly on Christmas, no matter how old you are.
At nearly 60 it’s been quite a while since I held a football and being in Panama, away from family and friends, I really don’t have any one to play with outside of Kimme and I know she’s not keen on football anyway. I’m not really anymore either. I fall enough on my own now without any deliberate assist from friends.
But I still did manage to get outside and get muddy for a few hours yesterday jogging and hiking the Quetzal trail. Now I make an effort not to fall or take anyone else to the ground with me. But if it happens, it happens. I might get a little more upset than I did when I was a kid, but there’s still a bit of a sneaky childlike joy in playing in the mud that I hope I never lose. And at least now I don’t have to worry about mom getting annoyed because she’s going to have to patch my jeans.
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